


Tumblr Oneshots and Drabbles

by WearMyFace



Category: Bayverse - Fandom, G1 - Fandom, Lego Movie - Fandom, MTMTE - Fandom, Transformers, Transformers Animated
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:14:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 13,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WearMyFace/pseuds/WearMyFace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of things I write on Tumblr, whether they're for me or someone else.<br/>Some are rated NSFW, others are SFW. Chapters will be rated accordingly. Pay attention to the warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teenage!Rung and His Thumb Microphone

The more porn-savvy among you may see where this is going. Rung was raised by the Functionists because no one wanted a freak. Rated NSFW. Sticky. 

Rung sat on his berth, thumbing through a data pad. He had been a bit surprised when the Functionist scientist he was living with had given him it, more so when he saw what it contained, because no one gave him gifts. But the scientist's awkward mumbling the other solar cycle about interface systems made a lot more sense now that he was staring at sensually posed bodies with their legs spread and equipment bared. If he was honest with himself, and he always tried to be, some of the images were quite charge-inducing, but others looked simply painful.   
Putting aside his data pad, he frowned at the pool of heat spreading through his belly and gave a soft sigh as it settled in his own equipment. He braced himself on the berth with one hand, the other settling down between his legs to rub at his closed valve. A couple nanokliks and his hips were arcing themselves up to meet his hand and he ached. Suddenly his valve cover retracted and his fingers were met with wet, sticky warmth. He moaned as his valve tried to clench around the intrusion and he quickly pulled them out, noting how it felt. He traced around his entrance and slid back in, making another one of those noises he'd heard in the porno holo-vids. He'd always wondered why they did that. He thrust his fingers in and out of his slick valve, and soon, all too soon, he was overloading. Throwing his head back, he all but sobbed as his valve squeezed his fingers and rippled around them. Panting, he pulled them out, staring at the threads of lubricant dripping off of them. He licked his fingers, noting the strange, almost sweet taste, then got a rag and cleaned up his surprisingly sticky berth.   
Then his fuel levels pinged him. He went out to the main room, shutting his door carefully and made his way past the Functionist working at his console to the Energon dispenser. Getting a cube, he walked back to the table (no fuel allowed in private quarters) and took a sip.   
“My, you certainly are an enthusiastic one,” a voice said lewdly, coming from the scientist's console. Rung spit out his fuel and whipped around towards his Keeper. Who sighed blandly and pulled up a list of documents.   
“We found out yesterday you have a microphone in your right thumb. It automatically broadcasts on any strong, local signal. Self-servicing is a normal part of getting older, but I would appreciate if you did not hack my private calls to broadcast the fact that you are. There's a reason we don't do it in public.”   
Rung had never refueled so fast in his life, but somehow managed to finish, throw the empty cube away and make it back to his room in under four nanokliks. He fell into recharge and only onlined when he was sure the scientist was gone for the day. Cautiously peering around his door, he scanned the room. Nothing. He stepped out, shutting his door carefully, and tripped over a data pad. Sprawled out on the floor, he activated it and saw it had a message. Faceplates burning in shame, he read it. He'd thought yesterday was just going to be forgotten about, but apparently not. Then he got angry. He drank another cube, he needed about two or three to get a proper refuel, then stomped back to his room, slamming the door. He bet other people didn't have a schedule, a literal fragging schedule, that laid out acceptable times for self-servicing. One day, he thought angrily, he was going to have an office. (Because anybody who was anything had an office. Only pleasure bots, miners, and disposable class didn't.) And when he did, he was going to self-service in it as much as he fragging desired.


	2. For kitty-lune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kitty-lune asked for either Drift/Ratchet or Drift/Rodimus. Couldn't decide between the two, so I made it ambiguous. Rated NSFW. Sticky.

. He laid on his back on the berth, wrists cuffed to the rails, legs spread, and valve open, lubricant forming a pool under his aft. He wiggled his hips fruitlessly, moaning softly as firm hands held him steady.  
“Ah, ah, ah,” a voice chided gently, skilled finger swirling around the rim of his aching valve.  
“Nggh!” was all Drift's vocalizer could manage as that finger, that fragging finger, slowly slid in, up to the second knuckle. His valve clenched around the intrusion.  
“You want more?”  
Drift nodded frantically, hoping it would be enough. It wasn't.  
“You want more, you gotta ask.”  
“Ah! P-please, sir!”  
His back arched and hips bucked up as another finger slid effortlessly into his valve and began scissoring it open. Lubricant gushed out to join the sticky pool under him. Valve squeezing and vents shaky, he moaned wantonly and ground his hips against the hand stretching him out.  
“How ya holdin' out?” The voice asked conversationally. Drift's reply was unintelligible, but the static from his vocalizer and valve rippling around the fingers were answers enough.  
“You're gettin' close I can tell. Valve's shudderin'. Think I should give it to ya?”  
“Ngggh p-please ah! Sir!” Drift panted.  
“Well since you asked so nicely...”  
A third finger joined the other two, stretching his valve to its limits. Curling slightly, they set up a fast, hard tempo that had Drift sobbing in pleasure, fans shuddering as they tried to shunt off heat. He threw his helm back and screamed as his overload hit him. As he gasped for breath in the aftermath, the fingers slid out and the lips pressed a kiss onto Drift's helm.  
“Good bot.”


	3. Chromedome and Rewind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated NSFW

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mgicrobotgeography who wanted her OTP fucking. Rated NSFW. Sticky.

Rewind bit back a noise as Chromedome's fingers curled inside his valve, slipping in and out effortlessly. They set up a slow, steady tempo that soon had Rewind bucking his hips.   
“Fragging glitch!” he said. “Use your spike!”  
Chromedome shook his head.   
“I'm not made of glass!” the Cassette snarled.   
In answer, Chromedome pulled his fingers out and released his own spike which was almost the length of the Cassette's forearm. Instead of cowing Rewind into being quiet, it seemed to excite him further. His visor brightened and he spread his legs further apart. Chromedome sighed and it was then that Rewind noticed the problem.   
“Come on,” he cajoled. “I'm more slicked up than an oil spill. You're not gonna hurt me.”   
Chromedome didn't respond.   
“Promise to tell you if you hurt me!”   
Chromedome sighed again, but lined himself up with Rewind's dripping entrance and carefully slid in. Rewind groaned quietly at the sensation of being completely filled and stretched out.   
“Ngghh! Y-you can go a little faster!” Rewind wiggled his hips a little, trying to entice his berth mate. When that failed to produce the desired results, Rewind grabbed one of Chromedome's hands and fiddled with the needle catches until one sprang free. He twisted his fingers around it, rubbing it up and down and Chromedome sped up, moaning softly. Rewind wrapped his legs around Chromedome's waist, arching his hips up to meet the berth-rattling thrusts.   
Slamming again and again into Rewind's hot, tight valve, Chromedome felt himself near the edge. Thrusting one last time, he screamed in overload. Hot transfluid spurted into Rewind's overfilled valve, then gushed out onto the berth in sticky streams. Rewind's camera spun wildly, struggling to focus on something and the archivist's valve spasmed and he overloaded, visor whiting out and vocalizer spitting static. Chromedome pulled out carefully, and wiped up Rewind and the berth. The archivist vented harshly, fans sputtering as they tried to cool him off.   
“Needles are sensitive. I'll have to remember that.”


	4. For tiny-blue-deer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SFW. they asked for something silly with Whirl. I tried. Horribly, horribly short.

Tailgate hung on for dear life and whooped excitedly. Whirl took a sudden nosedive, spinning in crazy circles towards the floor. At the last possible second, he pulled up and climbed for the ceiling, only to be stopped by Cyclonus's arm suddenly appearing in his path.   
“Just what the frag do you think you're doing?” He demanded angrily.   
Whirl transformed and landed on the floor with a clack, Tailgate settled in his claws. “Flying. If you were actually fun, you'd know.” With that, he handed the minibot over and stalked away to his quarters.


	5. Creepy Nasty First Aid Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for me. Plotbunny bit me before I fell asleep and I wanted to see if I could gross people out/write something creepy and horrifying. Rated NSFW.

First Aid's feeding lines hurt. They ached with pent-up nutrient-rich Energon. He hastily excused himself from Ratchet, ignoring the medic's confused questions in favor of his throbbing lines. Primus, they felt like they were going to burst. He ran back to his Gestalt's quarters, ducking around mechs until finally, finally, he arrived in front of the welcome, familiar door. It took him several tries to key in the code, his servos were shaking so hard.  
It slid open with a hiss, and he darted in, eager for the embrace of his Gestalt. He stopped short. No one was here. The door shut and he slid to his knees, vocalizer keening a staticky warble. He needed someone to feed, or just to ease the pressure into the sink. But no. He couldn't.  
The last time he had, his Commander had told him that now his gestalt was going to have to settle for the swill that came out of the Energon Dispensers. That he had wasted fuel, and he'd been spanked. In front of everybody. He shivered in remembered shame.  
The door hissed open and had barely shut when he was on his Commander, hugging and nuzzling through the mouthplate and visor his Commander hardwired into his Gestalt code, meaning it could never retract.  
“Well this is a surprise,” Hot Spot said, brushing his thumb over First Aid's visor. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
First Aid's answer was to retract his chest plates, and Hot Spot peered in at the swollen lines. He gently fingered the nozzles on the end of one and First Aid gasped as little droplets leaked out.  
“Oh, you're almost bursting. Would you like to be suckled?”  
First Aid nodded frantically, visor bright. Hot Shot chuckled indulgently and commed the rest of the team.  
And as the hungry mouths swarmed him, drinking from his lines as his Commander watched, First Aid felt the pressure lessen and, behind the mouthplate, he smiled.


	6. Bonecrusher and Lillie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bayverse Bonecrusher and my OC Lillie. She is an adult at the time this takes place, and this has a lot of my headcanons, to eliminate any confusion that will arise. If you'd like more info, message me on Tumblr. I swear I will write something nice to make up for this and the First Aid thing. Rated SFW.

She lays sprawled on my chassis, brown hair fanned out across her face and thumb in her mouth. Her eyes are closed behind her glasses, and she's happy. I can feel it in the way her body's molded to mine. I lift a servo and gently (because she bruises easy) rub her back. She makes an indistinct noise muffled by her thumb and shifts to expose more of her back. I give a small smile (not that she can see it but it doesn't matter) and begin a soft lullaby. It's Cybertronian, something I picked up from one of the data pads in the archives I used to stock. It's about the moon, and the stars and love. Suddenly she moves, pushing her hair away from her face (it tickles, she's said) and goes to sit up. I make a questioning noise.   
“I don't want to nap.” she says, thumb sliding out of her mouth. “It'll fuck up my sleep schedule.”  
“It's early,” I reply. “Go ahead. You stayed up late last night.”  
I just want to hear her steady even breathing and see her snuggle with her blanket. She's so slagging innocent and sweet, a stark (but welcome) contrast to my years as a death machine.   
My logic satisfies her and she hands me her glasses to subspace and curls up with her blanket again, sticking her thumb back in her mouth. I begin my song again and push her shirt up with my pinkie, exposing her pale, freckled back. As I rub in slow, easy circles, her eyes drift shut and she smiles, too.


	7. SamxBee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday fic for reddle on Tumblr. They didn't specify what pairing/characters/rating, so I came up with this. SamxBee. Rated SFW.

Sam rolled over on the hard bench, trying to get some sleep. He was just drowsing off when a sudden gust of wind blew through his sweatshirt. Shivering, he curled into an even tighter ball and sighed. At least it wasn't winter.  
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the stars through the trees. He swore when he got out of this he was going to give so much stuff to the local homeless shelter. Imagine having to do this every night.  
Sudden tears pricked his eyes and he forced his arm through the neck hole to wipe them away. He'd thought his parents had been pretty cool. They had been a little strict with rules and curfews, but all in all they were okay. He'd read so many horror stories on the internet about gays coming out and laughed. His parents wouldn't be like that. But they had been.  
He didn't really see the problem. It wasn't like he was dating some man they hadn't met. They knew Bumblebee. He'd been in their garage for about a year now, he was quiet, polite, and currently at the Autobot base, due back tomorrow. Hence why he was sleeping in the park.  
He sighed again, thinking of Bumblebee. He'd probably come home to a massive shitfest. Sorry, Bee, he thought. I didn't know they'd take it like this. After a few more hours of his mind spinning at a hundred miles an hour, he finally drifted off.  
Several hours later, he woke. Frowning at the tightness in his limbs, courtesy of being curled up all night, and the pain in his back from the hard, unyielding slats underneath him, he opened his eyes a little. Only to be rewarded with blinding light from the sun. He shut them and tried to snuggle into his sweatshirt, but his legs ached to be stretched out. Problem was, it was still cold and he didn't want to give up his pocket of heat.  
He thought of his pillows and blanket in his warm, snuggly bed back home and started crying. Tears streamed down his face as he made undignified gasps and dying whale noises. He gave up trying to stay warm and thrust his arms into their sleeves and sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and sobbing into them.  
Somewhere close by, a car door shut and he looked up to see a blob next to a blur. He blinked, and more tears slid out of his eyes and the image resolved itself into a man and what appeared to be a truck hidden behind the trees.  
A man who was coming towards him, a look of concern on his face.  
“You alright?” he asked. Sam could've sworn he'd heard the man's voice somewhere, but the brown-haired, blue-eyed, thirty-something year old man dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans rang no bells. Sam scooted further away from him as he came closer and closer. The man spread his hands as if to say he posed no threat, then sighed, glanced around the park and vanished.  
Sam screamed and then the truck rolled out from behind the trees and shifted. Metal panels rearranging into a form that, even through his shock, he recognized.  
“O-optimus?”  
The metal Titan tipped his helm in Sam's direction. “Sam,”  
“Uh,” Suddenly realizing his face was streaked in tears, Sam self-consciously wiped at it with a sweatshirt sleeve. “Wha-what brings you here?”  
“I could ask you the same,” Optimus said, kneeling down and putting his face near his friend's.  
Sam's breath hitched and he debated telling the mech. He didn't think Optimus would mind, but then again, look at his parents. Besides, what if he was upset at Bumblebee? He hadn't meant to fuck up so badly. Dissolving into wails and tears again, he didn't realize Optimus had picked him up until he was leaning against something warm and a regal baritone rumbled.  
“I received a call from Bumblebee this morning. He said he'd tried to call you and you didn't answer. He was worried. I said I would look for you.”  
Sam looked up and then, without stopping to over-think it, told him everything. When he was finished, he had his knees to his chest again and Optimus was carefully rubbing his back with the end of a massive servo. The silence stretched out and finally Sam could take it no longer.  
“So you mad?” he ventured. The rubbing stopped abruptly and Sam braced himself for the tirade.  
“No,” Optimus said carefully. “Why would I be upset?”  
“Because I'm gay for one of your soldiers,” Sam said.  
“Are you happy?” Optimus asked.  
“Uh, yeah.” Sam said.  
“Then that's all that matters.” Carefully putting Sam back down on the bench, he shifted to his altmode and the door swung open. Sam scrambled in.  
“Where we going?” He asked.  
“Base.” The voice seemed to come from everywhere and it had a rarely-heard steely edge. “I'm going to have a little talk with your parents.”


	8. Kup and Rodimus for sparklyclone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for sparklyclone's birthday. I fucked up the ending so bad. I don't even know. SFW.

MTMTE verse. Possible canon divergence. SFW. 

Kup frowned. He knew he was old, that he had a story for nearly every situation, and that his cygar pissed some people off, but this was taking it to new levels. Hot Rod was standing in the crowded Rec Room, back to the door, and mocking him. He picked up a straw off a table and stuck it in his mouth.   
“Back in my day!” Hot Rod broke off in giggles and that's when he turned and saw his mentor standing in the doorway. The straw fell out and he spread his hands placatingly.   
“Aww, Kup! It's only a bit of-”  
Kup turned and marched down the hallway. Hot Rod ran after him.   
“Kup! Kup seriously I didn't mean anything by it! Kup!” Kup spun around and Hot Rod bounced off his chest.   
“No I get it. You don't want to take this seriously! So go. Have fun with your friends.”  
Kup left that night, and Hot Rod was inconsolable. For four days he stayed in his hab suite, not eating or seeing anyone. Just as Ratchet was going to break in, having declared a medical emergency, he opened the door.   
“Primus, Hot R-”  
“Rodimus.” the mech said quietly. “My name is Rodimus now.” Ratchet nodded carefully, and managed to convince him to med bay for a check-up. He hoped that Kup, wherever he was now, heard of Hot Rod's maturing. Otherwise the poor kid would feel like slag forever.


	9. For scarecrowcoffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G1 Ratchet/Wheeljack sparkmerging. Rated NSFW. Haven't done sparkmerging before, so it's a little weird.

Ratchet put the wrench down on the table and sighed. It had been a long day and he just wanted to go pass out. Maybe have a cube of high grade. Unwind. Then the door swished open.   
His left optic twitched and he grabbed the wrench, mouth sinking into a frown. He whirled around angrily.   
“What?!" He snarled. "I swear to Primus Sideswipe, if you Jet Judo'd again-” His rant cut off abruptly as he saw who it was.   
“Long day?” Wheeljack asked. Ratchet nodded and put the wrench back. Wheeljack strode across medbay to the back where Ratchet was. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked, vocal indicators flashing a sympathetic purple. Ratchet sighed and sank down on the nearest berth. Wheeljack sat behind him and put his hands on the tired medic's shoulders. He began rubbing in slow, soothing motions, gently massaging up under plating clamped down from stress. Ratchet made an appreciative noise and leaned into it.   
After a few minutes, Ratchet reached back, put his hands on Wheeljack's thighs and squeezed gently. Wheeljack's vocal indicators winked a cheery yellow, the engineer's version of a smile, then quickly flared an aroused bright pink as the medic's hands found sensitive wires and gently tugged.   
Taking the hint, Wheeljack moved his hands to cup Ratchet's chassis and wiggled his fingers into transformation seams. Ratchet gasped and arched into the touch, fans roaring, then abruptly turned around, straddling the engineer's hips. Wheeljack flashed yellow again, and pushed the medic over and climbed on top of him, still working at the seams. Ratchet let out a burst of static as his chassis opened, revealing his pulsating Spark. Wheeljack brushed his fingers over the casing and it spiraled open like a flower.   
Ratchet reached up and undid the manual locks on Wheeljack's chassis, but before he could touch it, the Spark casing opened and the Lancia leaned down. Their Sparks ghosted across each other briefly, tendrils of energy reaching out almost desperately and their vocalizers spat out garbled static.   
They Merged, and Ratchet felt every remaining ounce of stress melt away at the first pulse of energy. They pulsed back and forth for a few minutes until Wheeljack couldn't take it any more and sent a strong wave and Ratchet overloaded. His optics whited out and his vocalizer shorted and just as he was coming back to himself, Wheeljack overloaded.   
Waves of energy flooded over Ratchet and his fans desperately tried to shunt off heat. They laid on the berth in the aftermath, panting and resetting vocalizers and optics. Grunting, Wheeljack pulled himself up and closed his chassis. Ratchet shut his and pulled the engineer back down.   
“Nice talk,” Wheeljack said just before he fell asleep.


	10. For me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Alert Xeno thing. Was supposed to be NSFW, but I got way into designing the girl so... no. So have some fluff instead. Rated SFW. Girl is unnamed.

She turned around slowly in front of the mirror. “Do you like this one?” She asked Red Alert. The security officer looked up from his datapad to survey the dress she was wearing. It was bright green and clung delightfully to her curves, but it wasn't /the/ dress. He shook his head and went back to his work.   
She pulled it off and draped it carefully over the other dresses on a chair. She selected another from the rack and put it on.   
“Red,” she said. “How bout this?” He looked up and gasped softly. She was wearing a pale purple dress covered in frothy lace that contrasted beautifully against her ebony skin. It fit comfortably over her bust, then flared out to a waterfall of lavender fabric to the floor. He smiled and touched it, carefully moving the lace at the collar. /This/ was the dress. He nodded his approval.   
As she went to reach for the necklace on her nightstand, he stopped her and leaned in for a kiss. She pushed her lips against his lower one, smiling to herself. He did like kisses, but she didn't see why. His mouth was bigger than her entire head, but he was so nervous all the time that she didn't have it in her to deny him something that made him happy.   
He broke their pseudo-kiss and carefully pinched the strand of pearls between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it in her palm. She smiled and gave him another kiss.


	11. For dataglitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was dataglitch's birthday. They asked for something with Fortress Maximus. I tried. Rated SFW.

Fortress Maximus hadn't smiled in years. Three years, two months, and ten days, to be specific. He remembered he used to, but it was like knowing when you were very young you used to suck your thumb. Trying to remember it was very blurry, and sometimes you lay awake at night thinking to yourself why you stopped and maybe wishing you could start again.   
Or maybe he was overthinking. He did that a lot, these late nights when he flicked the lights on in defeat. About all the little things he used to do. Play cards with the mechs who were off duty. Build puzzles and hang them on his walls. Drink a cube of high grade to relax.   
He couldn't relax anymore. He'd tried, once. One cube became three, three became six until everything blurred and Overlord laughed in his ears and stared at him from every surface. He was still paying off the repairs.   
He shifted in his berth slightly, arms moving from his chassis to behind his helm. He sighed, warm air rattling through his vents. He missed a lot of things from Before, but the thing he missed the most was feeling.   
Life now was a fog of empty nothingness peppered with random flares of hyper-intense emotion that left him drained. He wasn't sure which was worse. His chronometer chimed, signaling the start of the first shift. He didn't have one; he'd been taken off official duty by Rodimus and Magnus following his outburst.   
He sighed again and got up anyway. Maybe someone would need something heavy moved. It was about all he was good for these days.   
He stumbled down to Swerve's for a morning ration. He sat as the table in the back corner, and he had a five-table berth around him, not that there was anybody in the bar. But when there was, no one wanted to sit next to the mech who could rip their heads off.   
He didn't know how long he'd stayed there until he heard a soft knocking his table. He jerked up, expecting to see Swerve coming to ask him to leave so other bots could enjoy their cubes. Instead he saw a small orange mech with large, oddly calming, eyebrows.   
“Rung?” He asked, surprised. To his knowledge, the psychoanalyst never frequented the bar. At least, not this early.   
“Hello, Max,” Rung said soothingly, his quiet voice relieving some of the tension in Fortress's frame despite the fact that he used a nickname. Fortress Maximus hated nicknames. Couldn't stomach them. Not after...  
“I noticed you were looking lonely.” Rung continued. “Would you care to take a walk?” Fortress Maximus frowned, then tipped the rest of his cube back. Might as well.  
He stood up, and the therapist beamed and grabbed one of Fortress's huge fingers with all of his own. He carefully led the lumbering Titan out of the bar, down past the habsuites, and to the little office filled with model ships. Fortress Maximus sighed gustily and side-eyed the psychoanalyst who looked up at him innocently, optics sparkling.   
He pushed the door open and threw himself on the couch, sighing again as he did so. Rung scampered over to his chair. For all of his millions of years of age, he did act like such a newly-onlined sometimes, Fortress Maximus thought.   
Several hours later, as they were finishing up, Rung was over fiddling with one of his ships, and a couple bots walked down the hall. Atomizer and Siren, by the sounds of it.   
“I hope the mech who created the first pun died a horrible, horrible death," Atomizer said.   
“It would've had to be a pretty killer pun thou-" Siren's reply was cut off by Fortress Maximus's deep, goofy laughter. Rung whirled around, and he rolled of the couch and landed on his knees, pounding the floor with his fist. Gasping for breath, he looked up at his therapist.   
“Vector Sigma, that's terrible!”


	12. For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first heard of the DJD I was surprised Kaon wasn't the leader. I mean, isn't Kaon the Decepticon Capital? And it came to my attention that the Transformers fandom is severely lacking in valve grinding. I smushed the two together and here we are. Rated NSFW.

Lips traced a slow, seductive line up over neck cabling, sucking and mouthing hungrily. Tesarus's fans roared. Helex swore mentally, not wanting to risk being caught. Their Master has sensitive hearing.   
Now that Tesarus had gotten revved up, he would be expected to, too. But the thing about being a smelter was you had built-in defenses against heating up. It took time to get his charge up. Time he didn't have.   
Behind him, Master made a noise, a soft, quiet thing. A warning. Helex offlined his optics, trying to increase the pleasure. Tesarus slipped one of his crane arms into the gap of Helex's hip and thigh and tweaked some wires.   
Helex groaned appriciatively, smelter glurping as his fans finally kicked on. Master sat back in his chair, nodding his approval. A quick motion from his hands and Tesarus's valve cover retracted.   
Helex wanted very badly to bury his fingers into the slick, wet heat, but Master hadn't said he could yet. Instead, he was forced to continue his ministrations on his partner's neck. Tongue laving warm, sloppy circles until Tesarus's grinder screeched softly against the lockdown protocols, desperately trying to rev.   
Finally Master relented, but not in the way Helex wanted. The same motion as before, and Helex retracted his valve cover. He bit down on a curse, it wouldn't be fun if he pissed off Master, and looked up at the chair.   
Master's whole posture radiated smugness. He knew what Helex wanted and was denying him. He made another motion with those graceful hands and Helex spread his legs, straddling the grinder, his valve hovering over Tesarus's and lowered his hips. Rotating them in a slow circle, their valves ground against each other and lubricant was soon dripping down to smear on thick thighs.   
They gasped and arched into each other, big hands fastened to each other as if welded. Helex glanced up at Master and got another signal. He put his smaller set of arms around Tesarus's hips and rocked his hips frantically, trying to increase the pressure. His smelter blurped and gurgled, and he gripped tan hips tighter.   
Whimpers and mewls streamed from Tesarus's vocalizer and his grinder squealed. Their hips clashed together, briefly upsetting their rhythm. Tesarus forced himself to lay still and let Helex do the moving.   
Helex ground their valves together, the heady moan from Tesarus almost drowned out by Helex's sloshing. His head tipped back, molten metal dripping down his facial troughs in glowing rivulets. Hands clasping each other tightly, their fans roared in tandem. Master leaned forward in anticipation.   
And suddenly the tight, aching pressure between them snapped and overload crashed through them. Valves spasmed over each other and there was a loud hissing as lubricant evaporated where it came into contact with Helex. Spent and shaking, they collapsed together like a dying star in their aftermath.   
Up in his chair, Kaon smiled and petted his Sparkeater's head.


	13. Because No One Did The Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was re-reading MTMTE and in the issue where Fortress Maximus had his breakdown, Whirl says Rung is his friend. I wanted someone to write/draw them being friends, more specifically Whirl dragging Rung out of his office to socialize. No one did the thing, so I had to. Rated SFW.

Rung looked up as he heard a knock on his office door.  
“Ah, Whirl!” He said. “Finally come for that appointment I've been insisting you take?” The Ex-Wrecker shook his helm.  
“Swerve's is open. Thought you'd like a drink.”  
“Sorry. I'm a little busy. Maybe tomorrow?” Rung asked apologetically. He jumped in his seat as he felt a pincer on his shoulder.  
“That's what you said last night.” Whirl said. He grabbed the datapad out of Rung's hands and, with some difficulty, managed to close the program and shut it off. “Come on.”  
“Nonononono!” The therapist protested vehemently. Protesting led to outright flailing as he was bodily thrown over Whirl's shoulder. He clung desperately to his desk and screeched angrily as his fingers were pried off.  
“You require socialization in order to maintain a healthy mindset,” Whirl said. Rung was momentarily surprised and Whirl took the advantage and marched to the door. Only to stop short as something pulled tight. Glancing over his shoulder, he had to give the psychoanalyst points for determination. Rung had managed to get his feet around the doorframe and was holding on for dear life.  
“Put me down!” He begged. “I have things to do!” Whirl have him a look as best as he was able but Rung got what he was trying to say. “Paperwork to file! Ships to build and clean! Notes to organize! My patients need me!”  
“All your patients are in the bar.” Whirl said, unhooking one of Rung's legs from the frame. Rung scowled and dug his remaining heel into the metal. He kicked suddenly, but Whirl had had enough experience dragging people to the brig to not let go. He huffed a sigh through his vents. Time to play dirty.  
He stuck his pincer into the therapist's side and wiggled. Rung squirmed slightly and made a face. Whirl dug in deeper and suddenly Rung let go of the frame, flailing and laughing. Whirl would've smiled if he could. He'd thought the analyst was ticklish.  
Not wasting the opportunity, he flipped Rung over so his feet were angrily kicking Whirl's chest-guns and strode briskly down to Swerve's. He opened the door and the bar went silent. Rung shoved his face into the small of Whirl's back, embarrassed. Whirl took a booth near the front (faster drink refills) and plunked the little orange bot in closest to the wall. He turned to the chunky bartender.  
“High grade for me and a Nebulan Sunrise for my friend here.”


	14. For decepticondanceparty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They asked for something with Blitzwing, no smut, no pairings. I tried. Could be any of the Blitzwings, I imagined it was Random because it fits the best. TFA. Rated SFW.

He was sitting alone in the middle of an abandoned shipping yard when the Autobots found him. Optimus stuck his arms out, across Bulkhead and Ratchet's chassises. He didn't want to cause a ruckus if he didn't have to. And to be honest, he wanted a little intel.   
Blitzwing wasn't hurting anybody, in fact he appears to be...playing? Stacking the shipping containers on top of each other with his back turned to the Autobots, there were several structures around him. He reached back by his left foot and grabbed a rusted-out forklift.   
He drove it across the ground, making vroom-ing noises. He turned around, eyes focused on the truck, and pushed it under a makeshift arch and looked around for another truck.   
Up on the hill behind some trees, the Autobots watched.   
“What the slag is he doin'?” Ratchet hissed quietly. Optimus shrugged.   
“Kinda looks like what Sari does with her toys.” Bulkhead whispered.   
And sure enough, once the triple-changer had found another forklift, he bumped them together, making screeching noises. He crawled around his towers, pushing the cars as he went, making them drive around. When he reached the edge, he grabbed more shipping containers and hastily assembled them into a bridge. He picked up his toys and drove them across.   
Up on the hill, Optimus motioned to his team. Blitzwing wasn't hurting anybody; they could go. And leave they did, sneaking away from the happily playing Decepticon.


	15. For hot-cup-of-rodimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another birthday fic. They asked for Tailgate/Rewind cuteness. I tried. I also combined it with an AU I saw on Tumblr yesterday where it was Chromedome died instead of Rewind. I'm pretty sure it was trailbreakerofficial who started it,but I'm not sure. Rated SFW. Kinda short.

Rewind sat on the edge of the deck, legs swinging away onto space, aft magnetized to the metal hull. He stared up at the stars, wondering where among them his Conjux was. He didn't know how long he sat there, lost in his thoughts. Suddenly, a tap on his shoulder startled him.   
He whipped around awkwardly, aft stuck firmly to the deck. He flailed at the sensation, trying to regain his balance.   
“I'm sorry,” Tailgate said softly. “I didn't mean to scare you.” Rewind looked up at him and his visor flashed cheerily.   
“Oh it's okay, Tailgate. I was just thinking.” The minibot plunked himself down next to the cassette and grabbed onto the deck with both hands.   
“About Chromedome?” Tailgate asked. Rewind slumped and his visor dulled. “Sorry. I didn't mean to make it worse.”  
“It's okay,” Rewind sighed. “I just miss him.”   
“He died bravely.” The waste disposal expert said, patting the archivist's shoulder. Tailgate floated up, holding on to the deck with only one hand. He magnetized himself to the deck, aft sucked to the plating with a hard clang. “Ouch.”, he said, rubbing the soreness as best as he was able to. Rewind giggled and deactivated his magnetization and floated over to the minibot. He wrapped his arms under Tailgate's arms and pushed himself down. Tailgate pulled Rewind into a hug and nuzzled him. They sat there for hours, surrounded by stars and lost in each other's visors.


	16. For speedfreak01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday fic. They asked for some thing cute with Hound. Set in the G1 cartoon, SFW, and fluff. Kinda short, but I think I'm getting better at non-smut.

Hound lay sprawled in his chassis, staring intently at a flower. Suddenly, a butterfly landed on the center. Hound stifled a gasp. A Painted Lady, his databanks informed him. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he was afraid of hurting it.  
A welcome breeze blew through the valley he was laying in, and the orange-and-black insect fluttered off. He rolled onto his back, sun warming his playing, and looked up at the impossibly blue sky. It was dotted with fluffy white clouds.  
They formed odd shapes, that one looking like the butterfly that had flown off, and broke apart. And that one, over there, why that was the Ark! And Sparkplug's coffee thermos. This was fun! He could see why Spike did this often.  
He lay there for several hours, enjoying his little game, but eventually the warm sunlight began fading. Hound sat up, sad that his fun had ended, but he saw the clouds were stained with the most glorious of colors. Reds, blues, purples, and pinks. He stared up with all the wonder of a small child on Christmas. He almost missed the footsteps behind him.  
“There you are, Hound. I was getting worried.” Came a voice.  
Hound looked back and up. “Oh, Sir, I didn't mean to cause any concern. I was just watching the clouds.” Optimus sat down next to the scout and they looked up together, at the fading colors and then the stars.


	17. For bitterskyfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They asked for Swagnus (that ship name will forever make me giggle), rated SFW, shippy but not sappy. I had no idea what the fuck that meant, so it sat for days until I said "Fuck it!" and wrote this. Rated SFW.

Swerve stood behind the counter of his bar, polishing a glass. He sighed and put it on the rack with the others. It was a couple hours past closing time and he was finally reaching the end of the nightly cleaning. He was tired, very tired and he decided he was taking the next night off. He deserved a break, he thought. Something special.   
Just then the door creaked open.   
“Bar's closed.” He said, putting his rag down.   
“I didn't come for a drink,” Ultra Magnus rumbled. Swerve gave him a tired smile, his visor dull. Instantly, Magnus was looming over the counter, holding the minibot's face in his mighty hands. “Are you functioning within normal parameters?”  
Swerve nodded as best he was able. “Can you let me go? I can't stand up rig-” Magnus let him go instantly and his feet clanged back on the floor. Swerve sighed. Standing on tiptoe like that hurt.   
“Yes I'm fine,” he said, answering Magnus's question. “Just a little tired is all.”  
“Well then,” the Enforcer said. “I suppose I should carry you back to our habsuite. Wouldn't want you to fall over and injure yourself.”  
“No,” Swerve said, smiling. “We wouldn't want that.”


	18. Another one for bitterskyfire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They also asked for Perceptor/Brainstorm, a little requited to combat all the one-sided Percy/Storm fics out there. I tried. Rated SFW.

“Must you leave that damnable briefcase chained to your wrist all the time?!” Perceptor's soft, cultured accent rang out angrily as he rolled over, yet again, onto a hard corner. “It's bad enough it sits on your desk and interferes with my work, but taking it to berth?”  
Brainstorm rolled over and came face-to-face with an angry Perceptor. “It's my baby.” He said placatingly. Perceptor glared. Brainstorm sighed. “Fine, fine.” Perceptor smiled, sensing victory. Brainstorm squirmed to the edge of the berth and dropped his arm off the side. It was a bit uncomfortable what with his arm sprawled heavily over his chassis, dragging him closer and closer to the floor, but it was preferable to his lover's angry sniping. No pun intended. Behind him, Perceptor sighed.   
“Don't look like that.”  
“Look like what?!” Brainstorm demanded angrily. He was trying to go to sleep, dammit! Perceptor had gotten what he wanted, why couldn't he just leave him alone? “I have a mask and my back is towards you. How the hell can I look like anything?!”   
“Like a kicked turbopuppy.” The other scientist said. Brainstorm sighed. He didn't want to deal with this now. He sat up, briefcase clanking against the berth, and went to get up. Perceptor say up and put a hand on Brainstorm's shoulder. “I didn't mean you had to leave,” he said softly.   
“Well I already told you. The slagging briefcase goes where I go. Now leave me alone I'm tired. I thought you were too.”  
Perceptor gently pulled him back down to the berth. He pressed a kiss on Braibstorm's forehead. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad. Here.” He arranged them so Brainstorm was on bottom, briefcase-hand lifted above his head. Perceptor snuggled closer, wrapping his limbs around the jet. “Better?” He asked.   
Brainstorm sighed again, but this time it was one of contentment. “Better.”


	19. Valentine's Fic for bedazzledspike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She asked for some Cygate smut with them locked up somewhere. I tried. Rated NSFW.

They were in the oil reservoir. The one where Red Alert's body had been found. It was dark, and creepy, and what was that noise? Did Cyclonus hear it?!  
“Yes I heard it!” The jet snarled. Tailgate whimpered.   
“It's dark and scary and Red Alert died here and-” Tailgate's rambling was cut off by Cyclonus's hand over his mouth. “You have said this. About four times now. Leave me in peace so that I can attempt to unlock this door.”  
Tailgate peered under his shoulder, putting a hand on Cyclonus's curved back to steady himself. The jet was hunched over the partially dismembered lock, wires dripping from it to the door. It sparked, then fizzled out. Cyclonus screeched angrily and crushed it.   
“W-what is we do, Cyclonus?! W-we're stuck here! We'll be stuck here forever! I don't wanna be stuck again! I don't wanna I don't wanna!” His petrified wails faded off into frame-racking sobs. Cyclonus felt his anger fade. “N-no ones gonna look for me I just know it! I'm just a stupid waste disposal bot, I'm not-” But whatever he was not was cut off as Cyclonus picked him up and settled him on his lap.   
“We will be found,” he said, gently pulling the minibot's hands away from his visor. “Someone will notice we are missing and they will find us. I promise.” Tailgate's whimpering faded off slightly. Cyclonus bent his head down and nuzzled the little bot gently. “How about we think of something else?”   
“I-I can't! It's gonna be just like last time and no ones gonna notice and I DON'T WANNA GO INTO STASIS AGAIN!” He started panicking and Cyclonus wrapped his arms around the flailing, struggling minibot and held him steady. After Tailgate had calmed down a little, vents stuttering out harsh gasps, Cyclonus put one of his hands onto Tailgate's hip. Tailgate looked up, confused.   
“I have an idea to help get your mind off this.” Cyclonus said. Tailgate still looked confused. Cyclonus sighed, and put his hand on Tailgate's valve cover. Comprehension dawned on the minibot's face.   
“Oh! Uh... Is it going to hurt?” He squeaked nervously.   
“You've never done this before? Cyclonus asked incredulously. Surely someone would've spun wheels with the delectable minibot and his delicious thighs! Tailgate shook his head.   
“I-I was only two weeks old when I f-fell. I-I'd spent all of it t-training.”  
“Do you want to?” Cyclonus asked.   
“I-is it gonna hurt?” Tailgate asked again. Cyclonus shook his head. “O-okay then”.   
Cyclonus ground his palm against Tailgate's cover and the minibot squeaked under the sensations. He wiggled uncomfortably and Cyclonus tweaked some wires in his hip. After about a minute of awkward grinding and shifting, Tailgate's cover retracted.   
Cyclonus's claw tips sank into soft, wet heat. Tailgate made a noise. A lovely noise. A noise Cyclonus wanted him to make again. Without warning, he pulled his claws out and spun the little bot around. He effortlessly lifted him up and ran his tongue around Tailgate's dripping rim. Tailgate grabbed his horns, carefully holding the broken one, and made the noise again. He thrust his tongue in deeper, and Tailgate clenched around him. He was trying very hard to hold his hips still, and for that, Cyclonus was grateful. He happily spent the next few minutes holding onto plump thighs and with his face buried in a wet valve. He didn't even care he was getting lubricant smeared everywhere.   
Suddenly Tailgate shuddered, letting out a high-pitched keen. Cyclonus flicked his tongue against a set of nodes. Tailgate's visor whited out and he overloaded with a staticky wail. Cyclonus continued thrusting, guiding his lover through to the aftermath.   
Tailgate lay slumped over Cyclonus's head, spent and gasping for air. Cyclonus pulled him down, unsubspaced a rag, and wiped him up. Tailgate's cover shut and he snuggled into Cyclonus's chassis, purring. Cyclonus looked down at the adorable sight and wiped up his face. Subspacing the rag, he pulled the minibot closet and they drifted off to sleep together.   
Several hours later, they awoke to banging on the door. Tailgate looked fearfully up at Cyclonus. The door burst open and Tailgate screamed.   
“Found em!” Whirl yelled loudly.   
“Oh thank Vector Sigma we're saved!” Tailgate sobbed with joy. Cyclonus picked him up and trudged out if the reservoir, and tried to ignore Rung's knowing smile.


	20. For Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to write angst. Rated SFW.

Pharma lay on the ground, curled into a ball, sobbing. He was long past the part where he cared. Everything hurt. He just wanted this to be over so he could go home. Get some Energon. Maybe a warm bath. Oil soak. Something nice.   
A low chuckle made his ears throb and he was forcefully dragged back to the present.   
“Why, Doctor,” Tarn laughed. “One would think you don't want to be here.” He leaned down and hauled the medic up by his neck, squeezing slightly. A warning.   
“It's incredibly disrespectful to your host. After all, I went through all this trouble of inviting you-” Having Vos kidnap me, more like, Pharma thought. “Making you a delicious meal-” Energon from a recently-killed mech did not constitute a delicious meal, Pharma mentally spat. “And I've been nothing short of welcoming and charming.” Pharma barely managed to contain a derisive snort. Oh yes, welcoming and charming, if one counted singing and reading poetry to your guest in your death voice and playing back recordings of how your meal had died welcoming and charming. Pharma did not.   
“Are you listening, Doctor?” Tarn asked quietly. Pharma dragged himself back to the present and tried to speak through a staticky vocalizer.   
“Kshhht-I-ttthhhh-click” His vocalizer shorted out. Tarn made a disapproving noise.   
“Hm. Still being rude?” Pharma's eyes widened and he desperately shook his head, praying Tarn would just let him go. It seemed Primus was listening, as Kaon appeared in the doorway, saying something in his quiet, reedy voice. Pharma tried to catch what he was saying, but his audials only caught bits and pieces. His HUD pinged him with a list of repairs to be done, and he shot it down. He already knew what was broken.   
Suddenly, Kaon's face filled his vision, empty sockets boring into his eyes. Pharma flinched, startled. Kaon smiled.   
“-you want-?” He said. Pharma squinted in confusion. Kaon smiled again, and and Pharma caught himself staring, despite himself. Kaon had a nice face. Everything about him was nice, in fact. Physically, at least. His voice was quiet and on the few occasions Pharma had heard him talking to his other teammates, he'd found the electric chair had quite a sense of humor. His paint job was always polished, and Pharma wondered who did it for him. Such a thing must be hard for a blind mech. He was like an angel, Pharma thought. His victims must die with such a look of shock on their face. Someone who looked like Kaon didn't look capable of inflicting such agony.   
Something tapped his face and Pharma flinched again. Kaon's hand was cupped around his cheek, thumb brushing over the ridge there. Still with that lovely, perfect smile on his lips, his Tesla coils sparked, Pharma's face burned, and everything went black.   
When he woke up, the first thing he registered was the cold. His optics flickered online, and his vocalizer spat more garbled static. He booted up his audials and was met with smothering silence. He was outside, laying face down in a snow drift. He wanted to lay there forever and forget about everything. But his HUD pinged him again with six new things added to the list and so he hauled himself up and looked around, trying to gain some semblance of direction. All around him was white. Cold snow swirled around him and fell in a thick, muffling blanket. He'd have to shovel tomorrow.   
And it was this that tipped him over the edge. Not the lingering pain, the way his Spark still constricted around a voice that was no longer there. Not his face, still stinging, feeling like a star, glowing and hot. The fact that he was going to have to get up early the next morning and shovel. He sank back down, put his face on his knees, and cried.   
Almost immediately he realized this was a very stupid thing to do. The coolant froze to his face in cold, hard tracks. His optics hurt. But he cried anyway. He cried for the pain, all that he'd had to endure and all that would come. He cried for the mechs he'd had to kill to make his quota. He cried for the mech who'd died to feed him. Almost as an afterthought, he leaned over and purged his tanks, the bright pink a brilliant riot of color against the endless white. He cried for Ambulon, the brave ward manager who gave no frags about where he was working. He cried for First Aid, the silly little thing who waited excitedly for breaks so he could reread Wreckers: Declassified. But most of all, he cried for himself. Alone, outmatched, scared, and overwhelmed.   
How long he lay there sobbing, he didn't know because his chronometer was broken. But it was long enough for the pink splotch next to him to be almost covered with snow, and long enough that his joints had started to ache, protesting against his tightly, curled ball. Vents hitching, he hauled himself up again and trudged in some random direction, hoping it was the right one.   
After a while, he heard a faint sound in the distance, deadened by the snow. He stopped, and scrunched his face up in concentration. The frozen coolant on his face shattered off, and he brought up a hand to scrub at his face, rubbing the last of it off. The sound, a wailing siren, got closer and closer, and an ambulance screeched to a halt on front of him and cut the sirens. It transformed into his nurse. He booted his vocalizer up.   
“F-first Aid?” He asked incredulously. Was this the product of his low-fueled mind?  
“Boss! There you are! We've been looking for you for hours!” First Aid bounced around him, patting him down and checking him for external needed repairs. There were none, Pharma knew. After a minute, First Aid straightened up. “Where were you? Why didn't you comm?!”   
“I went out for a flight. Ran out of fuel.” Pharma was proud of himself, he managed to keep all but a faint trace of the pain and tiredness out of his voice. He almost sounded like himself. First Aid shook his head at his idiot boss, but kept his opinions to himself. Pharma took his elbow and they walked the six miles back to Delphi in silence.   
Once they arrived there, Pharma sighed, frosty air rattling around his vents. The doors swished open, retracting back into their frames. Standing in the doorway, somehow managing to look imposing despite his chipped paint, was Ambulon. He frowned.   
“Found 'im six miles out. Low fuel.” First Aid said. He and Ambulon traded looks and Ambulon nodded. He had this. First Aid scampered up to his patients in Ward 9. Pharma walked in and Ambulon shut the door. There was something knowing in the way he looked at Pharma, something that made Pharma wonder just how much he knew. Or maybe he was overthinking it. Ambulon walked over to the Energon dispenser and sighed. And suddenly he wasn't the menacing ex-Con anymore. He was just a tired ward manager with splotchy paint.   
“Here,” Ambulon said, pushing a warm cube at him. “You look like you need this.” And with that, he turned and walked down the hall to his habsuite. “Don't worry about the snow,” he called over his shoulder. “First Aid and I'll get it.” He vanished through a doorway. Pharma's tired feet led him through the maze of halls until he reached his own habsuite. He keyed open the door and downed the cube. He sat on his berth and sleep came upon him like a Spark flatlining. Slowly at first, then all at once, then empty peaceful nothing.


	21. For dazzledickery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They wanted a cute thing with their OTP. Rated SFW.

Swerve onlined slowly, feeling a heavy weight on top of him. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling overly hot, and tried to shove it off. Above him, Skids mumbled sleepily. Swerve thudded his head back onto the berth. He squirmed and flailed and finally, finally, Skids rolled over.   
Not wasting his oppertunity, because one time Skids had used his grappling hook, Swerve bolted for the door. Once out in the hall, he breathed in cool, welcoming air. Smiling, he walked down to his bar. Skids had been working hard the past couple of days, cleaning out the air vents he loved to crawl around in, and so deserved something special. No Engex, though. Skids never drank it before nighttime.  
He palmed open the door, his door, the door to the- Scrap. He still hadn't come up with a name. He needed to work on that. Adding it to his list of things to get around to doing, right under fix the vent above his bar that Skids had fallen through last week, he stepped behind the counter and surveyed his domain.   
Skids onlined to a cold empty berth and frowned. He'd been hoping to snuggle a chubby metallurgist. Days that did not start off with chubby metallurgist snuggles generally were not good days. He offlined his optics and booted them back up, hoping that they would come back online to an adorable grin. No such luck. He threw himself dramatically on his face and huffed like an angry baby.   
“Charming,” came a voice from the door. “I knew there was a reason I fell for you.” Skids' head popped up. Standing in the doorway, holding a multicolored glowing cube, was his snuggly scraplet!  
“How many times do I have to tell you to not call me that?” Swerve asked.   
“I didn't even say anything!” Skids protested.   
“You don't have to. The look on your face says it all. I made you this.” Swerve gestured with the cube. “I call it a Nebulan Sunrise. No Engex. Try it out.”   
He sat down on the berth next to the theorist. Who took the cube and took a sip. Skids smiled and kisses Swerve gently on the mouth.   
“I like it.”


	22. Bedazzledspike's Fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is her fault. She knows what she did.

He stood at the counter of the shop, waiting for the cashier to finish ringing him up, and bounced excitedly. The cashier gave him a slightly weirded-out look and Rung tried to tone down the bouncing, hand-flapping, and excited squeeing.   
He had finally found several model ships he'd been looking for. And, to his great delight and the worker's amusement upon seeing his reaction, he had discovered a back room. Full of unwanted model ships. Good thing Rung had a seemingly-limitless supply of credits, lots of shelf space, and endless room in his Spark for all.   
The cashier had finally finished his arduous chore, and had started wrapping them. Rung was going to burst from either excitement or trying to contain it if this took much longer. He may have been vibrating slightly. He would admit nothing. He gripped the counter with both hands and took a deep, steadying breath. It wouldn't be good if he scared off the cashier.   
Seven agonizing minutes later, his packages were wrapped. He stumbled out of the shop, arms loaded with packages. It was times like this he wished he had a mobile altmode or four arms. Or both. He tottered over to the crosswalk and shuffled the packages on his thin arms.   
His packages teetered precariously as he reached for the button. He held his breath, hoping they'd stay. They did not, and spilled all over the sidewalk. Rung resisted the urge to fall to his knees and wail. He knelt down and began picking them up.   
Suddenly a large purple hand filled his field of vision and grabbed several packages. Rung sank onto a defensive crouch and it took a great deal of self-control to not look up and hiss angrily at the potential thief.   
“You look like you could use some help,” said a deep, smooth, cultured voice. Rung looked up and saw a massive purple bot who dwarfed him even bent over, with wide tank treads on his shoulders and a Decepticon symbol for a face. He'd heard about this mech. Hard not to, really. Tarn must've noticed his trepadition, for he knelt down and offered his unoccupied hand to Rung and he took it, dazed.   
Tarn pulled him up gently, and collected the other packages off the ground. “Might I offer my services?” Rung nodded, happy. Tarn took the packages from Rung and placed the therapist in the crook of his elbow. And then proceeded to walk straight in the street, not caring about traffic. Tarn didn't stop for traffic. Traffic stopped for Tarn.   
And stop it did, with bots screeching to a halt and swerving into each other and transforming to avoid a crash. Tarn walked at a normal pace and Rung directed him down streets, through alleys, and brought him the long back way to his office. When they arrived at the back door, Tarn put the therapist down and handed him his packages. He strode to the end of the narrow path they were on and turned and saluted the diminutive orange bot. Then he turned and was gone.   
Rung smiled, palmed open his door, and took the lift up to his office.


	23. Birthday Fic for bedazzledspike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She asked for Rodimus/Ultra Magnus, any rating, and it had to I lied ice cream. I swear she just adds in random shit to see if I can do it. I love her, tho. Rated SFW.

Rodimus was bored. Bored bored bored. B-o-r-e-d. Bored. It was sometime in the afternoon, he didn't feel like checking his chronometer to see exact when, and he was bored. He'd done what little paperwork he had (ah, the wonders of delegating) and had been spinning his chair around for what felt like hours. Did he mention he was bored?  
Suddenly, a knock on the door broke the endless sludge of boredom and he grabbed the desk and stopped spinning.   
“Yes?” He called, trying not to sound too hopeful. Ultra Magnus poked his head in. Rodimus bounded out of his chair and tugged the Enforcer in by one huge servo.   
“Maggie! Wonderful to see you! How's your day been?”   
“Don't call me 'Maggie', Rodimus. My name is-”   
“Yes yes yes. You've said. How's your day going?” Rodimus perched on his desk and stared up, completely interested in this great, wonderful, (smoking hot) distraction.  
“Well enough.” Magnus said slowly, confused as to his Captain's motives. Rodimus beamed.   
“Fantastic, absolutely bloody fantastic. How's your night looking? Any plans?”   
“No?” Magnus said, still in a confused voice that made his statement sound like a question.   
Rodimus stood up and smiled so brightly that Magnus was sure it could light up the disco ball Swerve had in his bar that broke 3 regulations. “Amazing. I'll see you after your shift ends and not a minute later!” Magnus blinked in confusion as he was pushed out the door. “Bye!” The door shut.   
Magnus stood in the hallway, trying to figure out what, exactly, had just happened. To get his mind to stop racing at 300 miles an hour, he thought of the regulations Swerve's light ball broke. 1: It required the other lights to be dimmed, which in turn made a tripping hazard. 2: It was hung over the dance floor near the center tables which instituted a hazard for the mechs sitting there. And 3: It flashed very brightly, shifting between colors alarmingly fast. Which made him feel dizzy.   
Magnus took a deep breath, calming down, but he was still a little stressed. He decided to go to his office and write reports. With bullet points. He liked bullet points. He keyed in the code for his door and sank happily into his chair (his chair which, unlike Rodimus's, complied completely with all regulations) and began to write.   
He didn't realize how late it was until a frantic banging on his door startled him. He strode over to the door and opened it. Rodimus's fist, about to bash down again, hit him square on the chassis. Magnus grunted softly. His Captain could pack a lot of force when he wanted to.   
“Stop calling me your Captain, Maggie,” Rodimus said, slipping past the Enforcer and plunking down in his chair. Magnus turned. Rodimus had his feet up on the desk. He pointed to the ground. Rodimus ignored him. Magnus sighed and gave it up as a lost cause and didn't ask how his Captain knew how he was being addressed. His Captain was weird sometimes.   
“But Sir, you are my Captain.” Magnus was confused again.   
“No, I'm your lover. Say it with me, Maggie. Love-er.” Magnus didn't say anything. “Come on!” Rodimus encouraged like he was talking to a small pet. “You can do it! Come on big guy!” Magnus blinked and Rodimus sighed.   
“What are you doing in my office?” Magnus asked.   
“You're late.” Rodimus pointed at him accusingly. Magnus started to panic. “For our date. Your shift has been over for 15 minutes.”   
Magnus shifted uncomfortably. Rodimus smiled and bounced up out of the chair.   
“But I know how you can make it up.” He said, standing in front of Magnus and throwing his arms out dramatically. “Kiss me, old fool!” Magnus inclined his head and pecked his Cap-lover on the cheek. Rodimus sighed and held out a pink container. “Got this from Swerve. Know what it is?”  
Magnus shook his head and Rodimus tapped the label. It read "Iced Energon". Magnus raised an eyebrow. “Ice cream, you dolt! Come on! I got two spoons, a holovid and a couch with our names on it!” Magnus sighed and allowed himself to be led to the couch in Rodimus's habsuite. And if Rodimus clambered onto his lap and stole every other bite of Magnus's snack, Magnus didn't say anything.


	24. Birthday Fic for misfireofficial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They asked for something with the Scavengers. This was my first time writing them, it was pretty fun. Rated SFW.

Fulcrum groaned as a heavy weight landed on him and all the air was knocked out of him. His limbs flailed as he tried to get up. For the millionth time since he'd joined up with the Scavengers, he wondered if he'd made the right choice.   
“M-Misfire?! What the everloving frag?!” He had more to say, but it was hard to talk when you couldn't breathe. Misfire beamed at him.   
“MORNING LOSER!” He screamed. Fulcrum's audials blew out. He shoved the jet off and slammed his open palm against his audials, trying to manually reboot them. He looked up. Misfire was still talking, Fulcrum noticed dully. He could see his mouth moving. Suddenly, his audials booted back up.   
“-said we were gonna land soon! Looks like a fun planet, lots of dead mechs!” Misfire grinned, holding up his siphon. “What're you waiting for, pinhead?! Let's go let's go lets go!” He grabbed Fulcrum's wrist and sprinted off towards the bridge. Fulcrum was pulled off his berth, and tried to gain purchase on the floor. He failed, and was dragged through the winding halls and corridors by his left arm.   
Suddenly the painful yank on his arm ceased, and he crashed into Misfire's legs. Misfire had stopped, his processor noticed dully. He struggled to get up, his processor still sluggish from it's forced boot up. Spinister's face filled his vision and he shakily took the medic's proffered hand and stood.   
Crankcase was sitting by the main console and had it all pulled apart and spread across his lap. He was muttering under his breath and not laying attention to anybody.   
“You said you were a technitian?” Krok asked. Fulcrum looked up from the pilot's quick, easy hand motions.   
“Huh?”   
Krok rolled his eyes and repeated his question. Fulcrum nodded. Krok jerked his head in the direction of Crankcase. “We're almost there. Landing gear's fragged, though. Help him out, will you?” Fulcrum nodded again and sank down next to the resident grump.   
About half an hour later, and they were putting the finishing touches on the spot welds. They weren't perfect, but they'd hold. Crankcase stood up, mindful of his head, and started typing on the key board. There was a terror-inducing shudder and the screech of metal on metal. It sounded very much like Tesarus's blades spinning. Fulcrum gripped the console and tried to breathe.   
Crankcase hit the keyboard with a muttered curse, and the grinding and shaking stopped. They landed like they'd run out of fuel, with all the engines cut suddenly and a weird, floating feeling in the pit of his stomach that Fulcrum didn't like. It reminded him of Clemency.   
He may or may not have screamed loudly the entire way down. He was admitting nothing, but the twinkle in Misfire's eyes said there would be much teasing later. Fulcrum was the first by the door, desperate for land of any kind. And as the door squeaked open, as he caught sight of the blue-and-purple world outside, and as Misfire ran up and yanked him outside by the arm again, he smiled and realized he had made the right choice.


	25. Baby!Rung Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated SFW. No warnings, unless you can't handle fluff.

Rung sat up on the table, his eyes scanning the room. He brought his fist up to his mouth and began gnawing happily. Drool dribbled down his hand and arm and he cooed in contentment, eyes drifting shut.   
Ratchet turned around at the noise. “You're going to have to stay in here, bud. Okay?” There was no response from the miniaturized therapist. Ratchet walked over and patted Rung's head. Rung looked up and chirped. He put his arms out.   
“Up! Up!” he squeaked, antennas twitching. Ratchet shook his head.   
“No, bud. You gotta stay here, okay?” Rung didn't think it was okay, and started crying. Ratchet felt a pang of guilt, but he couldn't bring a baby with him into medbay. He had to be firm. He had to be strong. He had to- He looked down. Rung looked up. Big blue eyes sparkled with tears. The little cream-colored face was streaked with them. His lower lip was wobbling.   
“Pwease?” Rung asked softly. Ratchet felt his resolve weaken. It wasn't going to be a busy day, just some filing. Surely he could- He shook his head. He was Autobot CMO. He had dealt with worse. He would not give in. He narrowed his eyes.  
“No. Medbay is no place for little bitlets.”  
“Not a yittle bityet!” Rung insisted. Ratchet arched an eyebrow. Rung arched one of his own, copying the older mech. Ratchet put his hands on Rung's face and leaned in. Rung grabbed one of Ratchet's chevron points and pulled himself up.   
“Now wait just a second, bitlet! Who said you could-Ahhh!”  
The rest was drowned in a surprised shout. Rung had stuck the point in his mouth and was nibbling on it.   
“You stop that!” Rung did not stop that. In fact, Rung chewed harder. Ratchet huffed. Clearly, drastic measures were called for. He stuck a finger into orange plating and wiggled it. Rung pushed at the intrusion impatiently. Ratchet tweaked some wires and Rung let go, flailing and giggling.   
Ratchet tucked him into his hand and stood. Rung scowled up at him, antenna flaring out and eyebrows pointing down.   
Ratchet pressed gently above the angry V of eyebrows and Rung chirped.   
“Wan' doe, 'Atzet!” Rung pleaded. He grabbed one of Ratchet's fingers with his hand. “Pwease? I be dood!” This was accompanied by a pleading look capable of melting even Megatron's cold, stony Spark. Ratchet sighed. It ought to be illegal for something to be this cute. He brought the baby up to his face.   
“Fine.” Rung beeped happily and Ratchet held up a finger that was not currently being held. “You're going to have to stay in the playpen. And behave.” Rung nodded enthusiastically.  
“I do! I pwomus!”   
Ratchet sighed and picked up the playpen, knowing First Aid wouldn't get any work done because he'd be so busy playing.   
“If you say so, bud.”


	26. Another Baby!Rung Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Ambulon is grumpy, First Aid is smug and Rung is cavity-inducing. Rated SFW.

“Who's a good mech? Who's a good mech? You are! Yes you are yes you are!”   
“First Aid, he's a mech, not a turbopuppy!” Ambulon said, glancing up from his washing to glare at his colleague. “Quit cooing at him!”  
“But Ambulon, look!” First Aid pointed at Rung, who was laying on his back. All Ambulon could see was a tiny pair of flailing arms sticking up out of a mound of blankets. “He's adorable!” First Aid turned back. “Look at those pretty eyebrows! They're so cute yes they are!” Rung giggled.   
Ambulon sighed. “Will you at least come over here and help? He's fine up on the table.” First Aid petted Rung soothingly.   
“You stay here, okay? I'll be right back!” First Aid trotted over to Ambulon who shoved a pile of oil pans at him. “Geez, you're so grumpy. Is it cause no one gives you hugs? Are you lonely?”   
Ambulon shot his patented Ward Manager Glare at First Aid. It didn't work, but most things like that didn't with First Aid.   
“Go snuggle with him.” First Aid said. Ambulon pretended to purge. First Aid laughed. “Seriously. I'll do the pans. Rung does wonders.” Ambulon though he'd rather keep cleaning, but if he went over First Aid would leave him alone. He shoved an armful of suds at the ambulance and wiped his hands off.   
Rung looked like he was dozing, so Ambulon went to go back to the sink. But as he turned, Rung opened his eyes and cheeped quietly. Against his better judgement, Ambulon looked. And tried to stifle the noise coming out of his vocalizer. He almost succeeded, but he could see First Aid being smug out of the corner of his eye, so he could tell he missed some. Oddly, he couldn't bring himself to care.   
Rung was nuzzling his blankets. He could fit in Ambulon's palm with room to spare, but he wasn't sure if that was because Rung was small, or because he was big. He was a gestalt, after all. His eyebrows and antennae were still there, big and twitchy as ever, respectively. Eensy orange hands clutched at the fuzzy blankets and Rung brought one up to his mouth and started sucking his thumb. He tried to roll over, and let out a slurred screech when he couldn't.   
Ambulon sat on the berth next to him and tipped him over gently. Rung blinked and turned his head to look at his new surroundings. Ambulon laid down in the berth so he was eye-level with the baby. Rung turned to look at him and gave a squeak muffled by his thumb. Ambulon smiled and brushed his finger down Rung's face. Rung leaned into it appreciatively.  
Rung kicked his legs and tried to crawl forward. He only succeeded in rocking toward slightly and huffed. Ambulon noticed he was getting tired, so he put two fingers on Rung's back and rubbed carefully. Rung squeaked and his head drooped. He jerked it back up with a snort from his vents.   
Ambulon smiled and kissed Rung's helm gently.   
“It's alright. You go to sleep.” He said soothingly. Rung chirped drowsily and thunked his head down on the blankets. Ambulon smiled again and kept rubbing the tiny orange back. Within minutes, Rung was asleep, still sucking his thumb and nuzzling his blankets.   
Ambulon covered him up with a loose blanket and looked around the room. First Aid was gone, so he didn't feel embarrassed about scooching closer to the blanket like and slumbering baby. And he certainly felt none over falling asleep with his arms wrapped around it.


	27. Good Cop/Bad Cop Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty/introspection thing. Set after the movie. Rated SFW. I don't even know. I just sat down and wrote this.

They know their new face is stupid. It's hastily drawn on, scribbled in a few seconds to convince the others that they're okay. They're safe. They've changed. And they know the others mock it. They mean it as a joke, especially Emmet. He's not the kind of figure to be cruel. They wish the others would stop. It hurts. They wish they could repaint their face, have something better, something less... abstract, but what's done is done. They could clean it off, but they've been through that before and they will not do do again. The unending agony of being locked up, trapped inside. Unable to talk. It was only for a short while, but even that almost drove them insane.   
They know the others laugh at their scrawled face. They can see why, every time Good Cop looks in the mirror. He actually hadn't come out in weeks. He can't stand being laughed at. But they wish the others would realize that they would take that caricature of a face over nothing. Because Good Cop needs an out, a voice, and that face, to him, is everything.


	28. Sick Good Cop/Bad cop Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write sock GCBC. Here we are. Rated SFW. May or may not have a sequel. Idk yet.

They laid in their bed, feeling sluggish and stuffed up. Their helmet hit the pillow with a soft flump. They were between faces, both preferring the quiet dark of the helmet. A thin strip of yellow and the sides of their faces were all that showed. Slowly, Bad Cop rotated to the front.   
“Ugh,” he groaned. “Ah doon't feel much like goin' in taday. Guess I'll have ta call in." He thrust his arm out and it collided painfully with their bedside table. He fumbled blindly for their phone. His claw hand bumped something and it clattered to the floor. He moaned sickly.   
Good Cop squeaked as he was spun to the front. He was sick, too! He tried to spin back and for a few minutes they were caught in a dizzying tug-of-war. Finally, Bad Cop let out a pained noise.   
“Please stop.” He said quietly. “I doon't feel good.” Good Cop sighed, and picked up the phone.   
“Hey, buddy!” He said to Lord Business's secretary when she picked up. Bad Cop huffed grumpily.   
“Stop bein' so chipper taday” he groused to Good Cop. “Ah'm sick!Ah'm not comin' in. The Master Builders'll still be there tamarrow.” He said to the assistant. Hanging up, he considered the pros and cons of getting up to make breakfast.   
Suddenly Bad Cop's face twitched. It scrunched up as a strange tickle crawled across it. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead a thunderous sneeze roared out.   
“AAAHHHCHOO!” Their faces rattled around in their helmet. Everything was a whirlwind of light, dark, and flashes of colors. Finally, it stopped on a very queasy-looking Good Cop.   
“Ah doon't feel very good, Bad Cop.” He said quietly. Bad Cop realized what was going to happen and switched to the front. He ran to the bathroom and just barely made it.   
He stumbled back to their bed a few minutes later and collapsed, making a noise that in anybody else would've been a sob. Good Cop came out.   
“Ah want me Mum.” He said sadly.   
“Ah want me Pa.” Bad Cop said.   
“Remember when we broke our arm off and had ta go ta tha hospital? Mum made us a puddin' when we got home. Ah miss Mum's puddin'.”   
Bad Cop scowled. “We only busted our arm cause ye said ye could climb tha tree. Ye couldn't.”  
Good Cop chuckled weakly. “Ah almost did. If tha branch had been a wee bit bigger...”   
“Well it wasn't.” Bad Cop grumped. “An' ah had ta stay in tha helmet tha whole time we were there cause yer face got all scratched up.”   
“Oh shut it, you.” Good Cop said, smiling. “Ya got ta eat tha puddin', didn'tcha?”   
Bad Cop cracked a rare smile. “Ah did.”  
“We should call Mum an Pa. Go fer a visit sometime.”  
Bad Cop let out a noncommittal grunt. He'd call later. For now, the only thing he wanted to do was nap. Good Cop swung to the back of the helmet and seconds later, Bad Cop started snoring softly.


	29. 966-00-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Features my friend's Lego OC. I had a lot of fun writing this. Rated SFW.

She scurried down the hall frantically and around a corner, grabbing it with her hand and swinging into the curve to give her some momentum and balance. The last time she'd been 10 seconds late and it had been awful. He expected absolute punctuality from all his workers, she being no exception. He hadn't been there, gone to a meeting or something, it wasn't her job to know, but she had stood outside His office, shame and fear roiling in her stomach before finally opening the door. The relief she'd felt upon seeing the imposing-looking chair empty had turned her legs to jelly and she had slid bonelessly to the floor, sobbing gratefully. Clutching her feather duster in one hand, and her cleaning cart with the other, 966-00-1 charged down the office and skidded to a stop outside His office. She straightened her hat and cleared her throat and knocked. 

"Hello, Sir!" She chirped happily, just like she'd been taught. Always be welcoming and cheerful, they'd said. No one wants a sad or judgmental maid. "It is 966-00-1 and I am here to clean your office!" 

She waited for a minute before trying again. "Sir? I'm here to clean your office!" Another minute passed and she deemed it safe enough push open the door and drag her cart in behind her. The door shut of its own accord, but she paid it no mind, instead getting right into her job. She polished the big brown leather chair until she could see her face in the reflexion, vacuumed the red carpet, dusted the numerous tall bookshelves and then vacuumed again. It always seemed silly to her, to not dust first then vacuum up the dust, but He had given her Instructions and had expected them to be followed to the letter. She wound up the cord and stuffed the vacuum awkwardly on the bottom of the cart. It hung out halfway, but she would adjust it later. 

She grabbed the window cleaner and a pile of newspaper from the top and walked over to the big bay windows. She allowed herself to pause a moment to simply stand in the warm patch of sunlight streaming in. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of leather polish and books. She wondered what it would be like to be able to work in this office. It was a nice one, when He wasn't here. The large windows assured there would be no lack of cheery sunshine, the carpet was soft and plush. She imagined sinking into the comfy leather chair and reading from the bookshelves. If this was her office, she'd prop her feet up on the desk and-a loud crash snapped her back to reality. 

She shrank in on herself and whimpered, fear flooding her in a cold, sour wave. She didn't want to open her eyes and see Him standing in the doorway. She quaked like a tree in a tornado, imagining him in his massive suit, firing her. No-he'd step on her several times, then fire her. After a few moments, she straightened up and opened her eyes. The doorway was empty. Relief made her legs weak and she stumbled and caught herself on the edge of the desk. The vacuum had fallen off the cart, that was all. She laughed weakly and stuffed it all the way under the cart, kicking it when it refuse to move. She returned back to the task at hand and the next half hour was spent with window cleaner in one hand and crumpled newspaper in the other, rubbing cleansing circles on the windows. 

Finally, legs aching, she stepped down and turned to The Desk. The Desk was the single most daunting thing she had to do in the entire building. She would gladly take cleaning the Relic Room over this, and cleaning the Relic Room make her spine shudder and her breath come in soft pants and whimpers. She'd heard only bits and pieces about the Relics and what they did, but the bits that she'd heard were more than enough to convince her that He was not a figure to be trifled with. Not with Those at His disposal. 

She looked down at The Desk and gulped. Then, as if she was diffusing a bomb, she gingerly picked everything up off of it (a feat that took 10 minutes all by itself) and cleaned it off. Then came the hard part. Putting it all back in order. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and hands, and slowly stacked the paperwork in its proper places. Inbox over here, Outbox over there, works-in-progress in the middle. Rubber band ball next to the pens, which were lined up in an exact line starting with his favorite all the way on the left and with an inch of space between each. She stuck her ruler in her pocket absently and moved on to the pencils. Those were opposite, favorite on the right and inch of space between each, and then came His coffee mug. 

Bright red, with the Octan logo clearly visible, this was probably His most favorite thing on The Desk. He carried it practically everywhere, filled to the brim with dark, fragrant coffee. The same could not be said of the sleek silver pen that twisted to extend and retract the nib, or the cheery yellow pencil with the untouched eraser. He almost never put it down, and when he had to, it was always within hands reach so he could slurp a sip before replying. She stepped back and surveyed her work. It looked good, but it was His Desk. If something was wrong, He would notice and then she would be in trouble. She took a deep breath and cleaned up the crumpled balls of newspaper and gave the Desk one final glance before pulling the cart back into the hallway and shutting the door, off to the next room. A maid's work was never done.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd like to request something, drop a line in my askbox. I'm unesheet.


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